Phœbe, in a low voice, told of the conversation between her father and herself, and of his giving her a florin for a birthday present. Aunt Leth did not look grave as she listened; on the contrary, she nodded and smiled brightly. It was not in her nature to do the slightest thing to aggravate the gloomy surroundings of the young girl's home. Her heart was filled with sweet pity for her niece's lot, and it was for her to shed light on Phœbe's life.
"My dear child," she said, "do you look upon me as a mother?"
"Indeed I do, dear aunt."
"Would you wish to vex me?"
"No, aunt; no."
"Then you must let me have my way. I know what is right and what is best. I have a little treasure-box, which I find very useful often when I am in a wilful mood. It is sometimes filled with saved pennies, and you have no idea how they mount up. Don't oppose me, Phœbe, or I will not kiss you." In proof of which she gave her niece a number of affectionate kisses at once. "I am going to my treasure-box now."
She produced it from her desk, and put fifteen shillings into Phœbe's purse. Then she closed the purse, and pressed it into the girl's hand.
"What can I say, aunt?" murmured Phœbe, her eyes filled with tears.
"Say, my dear, 'I am glad my aunt treats me as she would treat her own child.' I have served you just as I would serve Fanny."
"I shall never be able to repay you, dear aunt."